Goobye Butterfly
by Odyssey
Summary: Okay, I loaded this a long time ago..but something messed up and it got deleted


Warning: CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR X-TREME X-MEN #3, IF YOU DON"T WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS THEN DON"T READ  
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Notes: Well I'm a hardcore Betsy Braddock fan, Marvel killing her off really pissed me off…for more than one reason, besides the obvious that she's dead there is the fact that if I get in a stink about it, gather up a bunch of people and protest this, which results in Betsy being brought back to life it will cheapen a good character who has already suffered at the hands of too many hack writers. Also, I will never get to see the Logan/Betsy mini series that was supposedly in the works for late this year/early next year. So I decided to write a piece about Logan and Betsy myself, namely what would his reaction be to her death and what would it be like if they still shared their psychic bond, which the writers never really dealt with, it just kind of slipped everyone's minds that they share one or did…whatever………..So some of this is comic fact, some is fiction…Logan's feeling's for Betsy, I have taken to a whole other level, I always felt that they were so good a match, so alike, kindred spirits if their ever was such a thing…Look at me, this note is almost as long as the story  
  
  
  
Goodbye Butterfly  
By Odyssey  
  
It started as a small, nagging ache at the back of his head. Then it grew, it fed, and it exploded into a searing pain as he ran through the woods surrounding Xavier's. A headache in itself was not an unusual occurrence when it came to normal people, however when you were blessed or cursed (however you decide to look at it) with uncharted regenerative abilities it was outside the norm.  
  
Logan fell to the ground with a feral howl as the pain finally became unbearable; he had come out here so no one would see his weakness, his sorrow, and his loss. His human nature retreated in the face of the beast that reared its head, the killer, and the monster that lay just beneath not so calm waters that was Logan. Normally he kept it on a short leash so to speak, but having experiencing someone fade from life inside your head had adverse effects on control and sanity.  
  
The crimson haze settled over his vision was too tempting to fight, too familiar, too comfortable to even try and war against. If she could see him now she would be deeply disappointed with him, angry even. She had not fought to save him so many times for him to turn into this mockery of a man. That thought was so very sobering, the rage fading as fast as it came, Logan slumped to his knees and did something he had done so rarely in his long, tortured existence.  
  
He cried.  
  
Logan cried with abandon, the salty tears running down his craggy, weathered face. He ran scenarios through his aching head at random, what if he had asked her to stay? What if he had made them take her take him with them? What if he had taken her away from all this long ago? But Logan knew what ifs only made it harder, only made the hurt more real and harder to push away into that dark little corner where he kept all his deepest regrets. He cast a glance around the small clearing he now inhabited; his sorrow grew at the damage he had wrought upon Mother Nature. The broken and slashed trees, rocks and ground products of his adamantium claws, they slid out of his hands with a small muscle contraction and the customary racket he was only just getting used to again.  
  
Another time she had saved his worthless existence, another time he had fallen from the path, another time he needed her help. What would he do now; she had been the one to save him all those times when he really needed someone, not anyone one else, always her. If not for her, he would be still a mindless slave. It could be the Hand, Apocalypse, didn't really matter who, but he would be the one thing he vowed never to be again. A blank slate, a machine whose only purpose was to bring death.  
  
The ache in his head festered like an open wound, a severed connection desperately seeking it's other half, a twisting, turning maelstrom of pain. He could picture the scene in his head perfectly, as if he had been there to witness her fall with his own eyes. He had often wondered what had happened to their connection, their bond, and their link. He had just honestly never gotten around to asking her about it, he still felt her way in the back of his head, felt her joy and pain but it was so subtle he dismissed it. Now he wished he could feel something beyond the emptiness, wished he could hear her laugh, her cry, hear her voice just once more.  
  
His memories took him back to the days traveling Asia, when life as a superhero carried not so steep a price, when it was he, she and the firecracker waltzing across the continent. His memories took him back to that night on that junk after they had saved each other, when he had fully realized what a unique creature she was. He remembered her tears, her anger, and her pleas for him to make it all go away. It was that one night they shared alone on the sea that came back to him. That and his regrets, so many regrets when it came to her.  
  
More regrets than he cared to remember, at least with Jean he made it perfectly clear how he felt. He had failed to let her see how truly special she was to him, failed to protect her from the slings and arrows her teammate's fired over the whole incident with Scott. He remembered the hurt in her eyes when he doubted her during the whole Revanche scenario, her words that made so much sense now but he had been to wrapped up in his own problems to deal with her pain.  
  
"We've shared each other's deepest, darkest thoughts and deeds…you know who I am."  
  
That was true, he probably knew and understood her better than anyone on the team, and she had been a kindred spirit. That was why he had refused to let her die at the hands of Creed; he couldn't see another loved one taken from him by that monster. He had sought out Gomurr, knowing full well the hefty price that would have to be paid; he had hoped he would be the one to pay it. But in the end he had only made things worse for her, more people warring for control of her, more people trying to own her. He had almost destroyed that free spirit he loved so much.  
  
A flash of memory brought back a sparring session out in these very woods long ago, just after she had been transformed by the Hand. They had danced through these very woods, blades kissing off each other until he had lost control, cut her perfect skin. He had refused to spar with real blades after that, fearing loss of control again, she had stubbornly refused his ultimatum and slowly helped him work for peace. Now there would be no one to spend quiet evenings under the stars, no words, just calm. The thing he loved most about her, he never needed to use those cumbersome things, and he had never been one for words. Fragile, false things that they were. Only he could never tell her the thing he most wanted to, that he loved her.  
  
He remembered that they had not done that since before she had started seeing Worthington, another obstacle that fell between them. He let his dislike for Warren effect his relationship with her, distanced himself from her, if he had been less of an asshole then maybe he could have saved himself some guilt. Saved her from Creed, and from the Dawn. From the harsh world altogether.  
  
He realized he had picked up a large splinter of wood while sitting there, his hands moving of their own volition while he worked through his pain. His claws had worked it down into a slim, balanced pole. He decided he need something to concentrate on other than the dull ache in his head, he shifted his weight and concentrated on carving the wood. His thoughts drifted to the other occupants of the mansion, they would come to find him soon, they would probably have realized why he had fled the cold sanctuary of the old building for the comfort of the quiet woodlands by now.   
  
Logan worked the wood furiously as he thought of those beautiful violet eyes, how they had been so happy as she left the mansion, with her new companion. He snarled at the thought of Neal, he had tried to hide his growing hatred for the young upstart for her sake. He had wanted to practice some of his undeveloped torture techniques on both he and Warren shortly after Christmas, but she had seemed content to let Warren go and willing to fall into Neal's arms. He had spent the next few nights cutting a swath of destruction through biker bars from here to New York, trying to futilely drink away his pain. His last moments in her presence he had been harsh and curt, so unlike the close friend she had come to rely on over the years. A fresh batch of tears clouded his vision as his claws worked tiny details into the wood.   
  
Jean would probably come to fetch him from the woods soon. They always sent Jean; right now he didn't want to see her. She was a reminder of love lost and she was also a reminder that death wasn't always permanent, and he didn't want to delude himself right now with fantasies. She would want to help him, he didn't want help. She would want to sever the connection, he didn't want that. As much as the pain ate away at his fragile psyche, it was all he had left of her. Gone was her laughter, gone was her smile, gone was that aubergine clad beauty he loved from afar. She had known everything there was to know about him, well at least everything he remembered and probably something's he didn't. He had not wanted it that way in the beginning, not trusted a spook up there in his head. But she had seen it all and her respect for him grew, weathered his insanity and lived with it for years. Far better than he had dealt with it, dealt with the talking ghosts and fevered nightmares and never said a word to anyone.  
  
The wind brought him tales of a crimson haired lady cautiously weeding her way through the woods; she was worried and a little frightened. Logan cursed his teammates, he wanted solitude, and they couldn't even give him that. His claws, which protruded obscenely from his hands slid back into his forearms and he laid his creation down in front of him. It was simple and extravagant all at the same time; the small wooden sword or bokken that bore a flock of finely detailed butterflies up its timber blade. He laughed bitterly at the artistic wonder he had created for her, she would laugh too if she were here.  
  
By the time Jean had found her way to the clearing, fully expecting to have to drag Logan kicking and screaming out of his depressed and borderline psychotic state, he was standing and moving towards her. He didn't feel like talking about it, how did one go about telling the woman you supposedly loved more than anything that it wasn't so. That you had actually lost what you felt was your perfect match, your kindred spirit. So he just started to make his way back to the mansion, bypassing Jean and all her questions that he didn't want to face, ignored her inquisitive look at his new found prize he clutched.  
  
Emerging from the now dark and ominous woods, he cast his eyes skyward to catch the twinkle of the stars, wondering if somewhere up there she was watching him. If she now knew how important she had been to him, how deeply he felt for her, how painful his love was for him. Jean stumbled out of the woods a scant few feet behind him, watching him intently as he took his creation and kissed the dull blade and saluted the nighttime sky, whispering something too quiet for her ears to the wind.  
  
"Goodbye kochou."  
  
Before sunrise the next morning Logan packed his duffel bag. Logan never took much with him, only the necessities, a few changes of clothes and some cash. Also the Yashida clan honour sword and his newly carved bokken were strapped to his bike, all the things in the world he needed. Logan needed time away from the mansion to deal, he always did that best alone. Clarity came best with solitude. Maybe afterwards he would find Ororo and help put this Vargas guy in his place.  
  
Just before he kicked started his bike with his dusty, old cowboy boots, and a small butterfly landed on his hand. The winged beauty didn't move for a very long time, neither did Logan. Not normally a man to believe in signs or anything, he couldn't help but burst out laughing at the coincidence. That ruined the serene moment and the brightly coloured insect took off into the sky once again, and Logan roared away from the mansion on his motorcycle. The butterfly settling down on the petal of a flower, watching the strange man race of into the sunrise. 


End file.
